


Next Time, I'll Lock the Door

by arihime



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24721966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arihime/pseuds/arihime
Summary: In which Jeralt Eisner stumbles upon a sight no father wants to see.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	Next Time, I'll Lock the Door

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was tentatively titled "Jeralt Finds Out Byleth Fucks" because I didn't know what else to name my google doc. Titles are hard man.
> 
> As always, thanks to Abby and Haley for beta'ing.

If there’s one thing that being a mercenary has taught Jeralt, it’s that the last day before the company heads out on a mission is always the rowdiest; everyone tries to get their fill of drink or food or what have you before they set out on the road. Jeralt’s particular vice is drink: he’s made it through eleven tankards of ale as the night has progressed, with a twelfth currently in front of him. In terms of his usual, it’s on the lower end of what he can drink on a good night, but as the leader of the company, he figures he needs to set a somewhat good example for the men and women under his command, and that involves not turning up the next morning hungover off his ass.

So, twelve tankards of ale, instead of his normal amount, and nothing harder than that. And he should probably call it a night soon too. The sun set hours ago, somewhere between his first and third drink. Even Byleth turned in for the night a half hour ago. He finishes his last tankard in three practiced swigs, then turns to look at the rest of the inn behind him.

Half of his company is milling about the common room, drinking and laughing and generally getting in some last-minute relaxing before they set out on another job. The other half has scattered to parts unknown, and Jeralt starts making mental bets about who will turn up late tomorrow morning, who will need to be woken up from a drunken stupor, and who simply won’t turn up at all. He eyes a batch of new recruits from the last group, green boys that they picked up two towns ago. They’ve been reliable so far, but he’s already warned them that the next job will be long and rough, the type of job that separates the people in it for the long haul from those only looking to make a bit of quick gold. They already look like they’re down a man, Jeralt thinks, though he has to count twice to confirm.

He makes a mental note to put that boy in the “maybe” category, then stands, stretching out the kinks in his back. As many years as he’s lived, he still hasn’t managed to escape the aches and pains that come with old(er) age.

“Turning in for the night?” the barkeep asks.

Jeralt nods. He jerks a thumb back at the company at large. “You can keep them on my tab for one more round. After that, anything they want is on their own gold.”

A groan rises up from the mercenaries seated at the bar.

“Come on, boss. Two more rounds?”

“No chance,” Jeralt says. “You’ve got wages I pay you; put them to good use. Besides, we’ve got a mission in the morning. Better pace yourself unless you want to be riding out with a hangover.” He raises his voice for the last part, so the whole room can hear him.

Most of the mercenaries nod before turning back to their conversations. The green boys are too rowdy to pay attention, so Jeralt mentally shifts all of them into the “drunken stupor” category. The sounds of their merriment follow Jeralt as he heads up the stairs to his room, finally petering out as he hits the third-floor landing. Perks of being the leader of the company: a room to himself away from all the noise makers. The only other person with a room on this floor is Byleth. Perks of being the Captain’s daughter, and of being the fabled Ashen Demon.

Jeralt walks past it on the way to his own room, then stops, frowning.

The door to Byleth’s room is cracked open, light filtering out into the hallway. More than light, though, are the noises: soft moans and the creaking of a bed.

Jeralt is moving before he can think about it, one hand going to pull the door further open and the other, instinctively, to the dagger at his waist.

He finds the missing green boy on the bed, shirt off and pants halfway down his knees. And underneath him, naked as the day she was born, is— 

“ _What the hell_?”

The boy jerks back to glare over his shoulder, but the fight melts from him when he meets Jeralt’s eyes.

All the color drains from his face, and he leaps off the bed away from Byleth.

“C-Captain Jeralt! Sir! I—”

“Get out,” Jeralt growls.

The boy gives a squeak and mumbles something else, but Jeralt ignores him. All his focus is on Byleth, and Byleth—

Byleth is scowling at him. Her version of a scowl, just the tiniest frown of her lips and narrowing of her eyes, but enough for her annoyance to be fully on display. While the boy scrambles to right his pants before he runs out of the room, Byleth shows no urgency as she stretches to collect her discarded clothes. Jeralt ends up turning away to give his daughter some privacy.

He times things by the rustle of fabric and the sounds of movement behind him. When everything has stilled, he asks, “You decent?”

“Yes.”

She’s still on the bed when he turns back, though this time sitting up and fully clothed, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. She meets his gaze head on, almost defiant.

Jeralt has the sudden urge to bury his face in his hands.

He taught his daughter about sex and everything that came with it when she was twelve and came to him with a stack of bloody bandages. He’d tried to cover everything he knew, then brought in some of the women from the company to cover everything he didn’t know.

Teaching his daughter about sex and actually being reminded that she _has_ sex are two completely different things, though.

His mind goes back to Byleth at twelve, staring at him blank faced as he went through the lectures. She hadn’t shown any reaction then, not interest, or disgust, or anything at all. Just a nod to confirm she’d understood what he’d said. He’s not exactly sure what changed in five years, though the answer probably lies in puberty. And hormones.

Byleth with hormones. Now that’s a thought. . .

Which speaking of.

“You wanted that, Byleth?”

She is the best fighter in the company, next to himself. If she hadn’t wanted it, the boy would have been bleeding out on the floor before Jeralt even got to the door. Still, he needs to hear it from her own lips. Needs to be sure.

“Yes,” Byleth says. “He’s a good kisser—”

Good kisser? How would Byleth know what a bad kisser was??

“—and I wanted to see if he was good at other things too.”

Jeralt is aware that he is gaping, mind whirling as the implication of Byleth’s words settle over him. He thinks back to all the times she left the campfire early, all the times she’d stay out training with the new recruits for longer than normal. Had she been kissing people then? Doing other things?

How much has been going on that Jeralt missed for sheer obliviousness?

(How much does the company know?)

“Have you—” Wait, no. He does _not_ want to know the answer to that question. Not now and not ever.

Jeralt sighs, staring at his daughter. The annoyance from before is still there, but tempered slightly. Now, she just looks uncertain, hands clenching and unclenching slowly at the edges of her tunic.

If Jeralt is being honest with himself, he never expected to get to this point with Byleth. He should have. Byleth is as pretty as her mother, and he’d have to be blind not to see the number of heads she turns whenever they enter into a new town. Someone was bound to seek her out. He just never expected Byleth to reciprocate or show any interest, and he definitely never expected to catch her in bed with a member of the company.

“It’s not my place to tell you who you can and can’t sleep with,” Jeralt says finally, more as a reminder to himself than to her. “But I wouldn’t be a very good dad if I didn’t tell you to be smart and be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Byleth says.

More implications there that Jeralt chooses to ignore for the sake of his sanity.

“That’s good,” he says instead. Because really, if his daughter is going to have sex (and there’s a thought that’s going to take some getting used to) he’d rather she be safe than anything else.

“If—if you ever need anything—”

“I’ll ask Norma,” Byleth says, naming the company healer.

“Good.” Perfect, even.

Silence descends over the room, a blanket that is still and awkward. There are more things he should say, Jeralt knows this, but nothing that he can think of when he’s maybe a dozen tankards of ale down and still minorly reeling from the shock of everything. In the morning, he will broach this topic again, but for now, it’s probably best for both of them if they let it sit.

“Well, I’m off to bed. You better get some sleep too, kid. We’re heading out early tomorrow,” he says, turning towards the door.

Byleth’s voice comes a second later, quiet and tentative. “. . .So you’re not mad at me?”

Jeralt turns back to her. “Why would I be mad, kid?”

“You looked mad when you opened the door.”

In that moment, he’d been downright livid. But not at Byleth.

Never at Byleth.

“I was more surprised than anything else,” Jeralt says. “No father wants to catch his daughter in the middle of having sex. Ever.”

“I’ll be sure to lock the door the next time, then,” Byleth says, the corners of her mouth rising up into what could almost be a smile.

Jeralt laughs, then reaches over to ruffle Byleth’s hair. She ducks away from him, but slowly, and doesn’t move again when his hand settles on the top of her head.

“You do that, kid.”


End file.
